


The Other Side of the Coin

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9661013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: For all of his adult life, Ben has been travelling the galaxy with his father and Chewbacca, getting into, and out of, trouble. When they come across a disabled First Order shuttle, however, they might find a lot more than the scrap metal they're expecting...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollycomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/gifts).



> hollycomb very generously contributed to an excellent charity as part of the Fandom Trumps Hate event. Thank you Holly! As her "reward", she requested space pirate Ben (who still has the Force) finding a ship where Hux is being kept prisoner. If you're a fan of her works (and who isn't?) try and spot the references! (One is super-obscure.)

“Look, kid.” Han holds out his hands, a placating gesture. Ben has never been less placated in his life. “All I'm saying is, I've been flying this ship for close to thirty years with a Wookiee, and I never had a problem with hair clogging the drains before.” 

Ben scoffs. “So that makes it my fault? Maybe you're going bald.” As a comeback, it's weak. Han still has a full head of hair—something for which Ben was always grateful, until he learned it's actually your mother's father's genes that influence whether you're going to lose it—and Ben's is longer than it's ever been, with shaggy strands hanging past his collar even when most of it is scooped up into a bun. 

The argument is interrupted, not a moment too soon for Ben, by a wail from the cockpit. He and Han rush to join Chewie, who points with one large, blunt finger. “ _First Order officer transport, dead ahead._ ” Ben looks. Out in the black, he can just make out the shape of a ship, maybe half the size of the _Falcon_. 

“Looks pretty small,” Han says. “How many men, do you figure?” 

“ _Probably one high-ranking officer, maybe half a dozen Stormtroopers._ ” 

Ben glances over, just in time to see a grin creep onto his father's face. “No fucking way,” Ben snaps, before that idea can take root. “It's not worth it. There's only three of us...”

“Three of us, plus the Force.” 

“Which is going to be no fucking help at all if we're shot to pieces before I can even get on board.” 

“Selling a ship like that would get us out of debt, though.” 

“If we could get a decent price for it.” Ben doubts it. No one would be caught dead flying a stolen First Order craft, so the only option would be to sell it for scrap. The trouble is, the scrappers would know they were the only option, and adjust their prices accordingly. “What do you think, Chewie?” 

Chewie shrugs his massive shoulders. “ _It's unusual for a ship like that to be in this sector alone._ ” 

“You think there are more nearby?” Ben scans the instruments in front of him. They show nothing. 

“ _Maybe it's off course. There might be mechanical difficulties._ ” 

“I'm going to call 'er up.” Han reaches for the commlink. “As good citizens, it's our duty to make sure they're not in trouble, right?” He winks broadly and hits the comm. 

Ben doesn't realize he's holding his breath until a click and a hiss indicates the comm's been picked up on the other end. “Go away!” A voice that sounds distinctly un-First Order-like snaps, then immediately cuts the communication. Han looks pointedly at his son. 

Ben sighs. “Okay, okay.” He stands, unfolding his long body from the seat. “First sign of trouble, though, and I'm hauling ass back here and leaving you to fend for yourself, old man.” 

Han claps him on the shoulder. “That's my boy.” He smirks and follows Ben to the weapons. 

Ben was never supposed to be like his father. Even now, it irritates his mother to no end. 

“You could go back to school,” she suggests, on the rare occasions they get together for a friendly family meal that devolves into personal attacks and recriminations, usually before the appetizers arrive. “You're very smart, Ben. You don't need to be crawling around the galaxy in that rust bucket with an old con.” 

“I know I don't need to. I like it,” Ben replies.

“You might feel like you have nowhere else to go...”

“I don't.” Despite Leia's bullshit about coming to live with her—no fucking thanks—or going back to school—to be what? An accountant? A medic? A professional rebel?—Ben has nowhere else but the _Falcon_ , no one else but Han and Chewie. Irritating as they can sometimes be, at least they see him as a person, and not just a survivor. 

So this is where Ben is, and this is where he stays. It's not all bad. It's never boring, that's for damn sure. Crazy jobs like this, where they have no idea what they're getting into and what the payoff might be, are the best. Ben's heart pounds and his palms sweat as he and his father prepare to board the First Order ship. 

“As soon as we're there,” Han says, like they haven't done this a thousand times before, “scout out everything you can with the Force.” 

“What?” Ben blinks with false confusion. “I was just going to rely on asking them nicely.” 

Han rolls his eyes. “We need that ship, if we can get it. But don't...” He hesitates. “I mean, be careful, right?” He holds out a hand. Ben bumps it with his fist. It's as close as they ever come to physical affection. 

“You too, old man. I don't want to have to tell mom you bit the big one going after some crappy little shuttle.” 

“Nah.” Han smiles. “Tell her I was saving helpless Ewok orphans or some shit.” 

The First Order shuttle is dim when Han and Ben board it, bathed in eerie blue emergency lighting. 

“The cockpit's this way.” Ben glanced over a schematic before they came over. He jerks his head at his father and leads him down the narrow hallway. 

A subtle peek around the corner reveals that there's only one being in the cockpit. It's a Yinchorri and, even in the weak light, Ben can tell it's not well. Its scales are brown and some are sloughing off. It seems panicked, turning from one control panel to the other and back again, its eyes rolling, pressing buttons wildly. 

“Hey.” Ben calls. The Yinchorri looks over its shoulder and hisses. Before it can grab its blaster, Han's got his trained on its head. 

“You want to be a nice guy,” Han says, “and tell us how many of your friends are on board?” The Yinchorri hisses again, its tongue flickering out as it hunches in place. 

“I guess not,” Ben replies for him. “That's not very helpful, is it?” 

“Not at all,” Han agrees. 

“You stay here. I'll see what I can find.” 

Han nods briskly, never taking his eyes from the Yinchorri. Ben goes back into the corridor, keeping his blaster up and ready to fire at less than a moment's notice. 

The first room Ben checks, some sort of dining area, is empty. There are plates on the tables, and stale food on the plates—Ben touches his tongue to a rock-hard bun, just to see—as if whoever was here left in a hurry. But there's no sign of life. The next room, a Stormtrooper barracks with bunks stacked three high, is equally empty, although little personal touches, like a holo of a topless woman, and another of a man's muscular backside, remain. 

Ben continues his search, heading toward the back of the shuttle. It's there he hears it. Breathing. 

It's heavy, but if his senses weren't attuned the way they are, Ben doubts he would have heard it. It's coming from behind a door, the last before what seems to be the shuttle's small engine bay. Ben breathes deeply, in and out, readies the blaster, and breaks open the door with one solid kick. 

The room is so dark, it takes Ben's eyes a second to adjust. It's an officer's room, with a single bunk on one wall and a desk bolted to the deck. Ben's gaze sweeps from one side of the room to the other before he lands on it. A figure hiding beneath the desk, pressed so far back that Ben can hardly see it.

“Get out of there!” He barks. “Now!” He adds, authoritatively, when the figure hesitates. Before he has to reach in and pull it out, the figure moves, and Ben steps back to allow it to climb from it's hiding place. 

It's a human man, that much is obvious. He's in a First Order uniform, although Ben has never seen one in such poor repair. The tunic buttons are undone, or maybe missing, and the top hangs open to reveal a tight black undershirt beneath. The man's hair, a dark reddish colour, hangs messily onto his forehead, and several days' worth of stubble grows on his face. Interestingly, his hands are bound, with Durasteel cuffs on both wrists. “Who are you?” Ben demands. 

He expects the man to cower. Instead, he squares his shoulders, looks Ben in the eye and says, “Brendol Maratelle. Major. 160106,” in a crisp Outer Rim accent that, in spite of everything, makes Ben feel like he's been weighed, measured, and found wanting.

“What happened to the ship?” The officer doesn't reply. “Were you attacked by Yinchorri? How many of them? Where are the Stormtroopers?” Still nothing. Maratelle stares at him, eyes cold in the weak light. 

Ben sighs. He really didn't want spend his day like this. “Look, buddy, you can play tough limmie if you want, but I'm trying to help you out here. And from where I'm standing, it looks like you could use some help.” 

“As a member of the First Order, I will provide my name, rank and serial number. Nothing more.” 

“Fine. I'll just take it for myself.” 

“What?” 

Reaching into Maratelle's mind is easy. Finding something worthwhile is harder. Maratelle is loudly thinking nonsense, repeating the alphabet forward and backward, counting by twos, then tens, then by prime numbers. _He's used to being around a mind reader_ , Ben thinks and then, as if he summoned it by sheer force of will, it's there. An image of a mask, known across the galaxy, accompanied by a shiver of fear that's much more personal than a general nervousness of Kylo Ren's reputation. 

“You know Kylo Ren.” It's not a question. 

Before Maratelle can reply, if he even intends to, Han calls, “Ben! We've got company.” Ben looks over his shoulder just in time to see the red, insect-like helmets of the Guavian Death Gang. 

“Well, well. What do we have here?” 

“Bala-Tik.” Ben forces a grimace as Bala-Tik greases his way through the door. He holsters his blaster, just in case. They don't need any confusion right now. “Always a pleasure.” 

“Indeed.” Bala-Tik looks between Ben and the Major. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” 

“The major was just telling me what happened to his ship.” 

“Is that so?” Bala-Tik turns to Maratelle. Maratelle shuts his already-closed mouth ostentatiously, pressing his lips into a thin white line. “Ah, well. I can't say I give a fuck, really. Thanks for subduing that disgusting old Yinchorri for us. We'll take it from here.” 

“What?” Ben frowns. 

“You still owe us thirty thousand from the Blair'ereth job. Or did you forget?” 

Ben could hardly forget that one. He'd barely escaped with his life. It hadn't occurred to him until later to worry about the stack of credit bonds they'd left behind. “The shuttle's worth more than thirty grand, Bala-Tik.” Maybe. 

“Then call it interest.” He steps forward, running a hand roughly through Major Maratelle's greasy hair and down onto his unshaven face. “You worth ransoming, love?” Still no reply. At this point, Ben doesn't expect one. “Never mind. You're bound to make us something in the slave markets.” 

For some reason, this irritates Ben more than Bala-Tik's talk of stealing their shuttle. “He's ours.” 

Bala-Tik turns. “I think you're forgetting just how much you and your father...inconvenienced us with that hack job of yours.” 

“We were led to believe it would be easy.”

“For my men, it would have been.” 

Ben's irritation deepens. It dances on the edge of—but doesn't yet fall into—anger. “Blaira had an army with her. You told us she would be alone.” 

Bala-Tik scoffs. “If you can't expect the unexpected at this point, Ben, then I look forward to dancing at your funeral. Probably sometime within the next standard month.” Bala-Tik grabs Maratelle roughly by the cuffs, dragging him forward. Maratelle stumbles and, closer up, Ben can see the deep circles beneath his eyes. 

The trouble with Jedi mind tricks is that you can't keep using them on the same people. At some point, after they've thought back once too often and realized they did something for no other reason than they were told to by a Jedi, they begin to grow suspicious. Some are smart enough to develop immunity to the tricks; others are just smart enough not to talk to Jedi anymore. 

So, with people like Bala-Tik, people Ben has to, unfortunately, meet over and over again, he rations his use of mind tricks. He always makes sure they're plausible, that anything he makes Bala-Tik do is something he might, conceivably, have done anyway. Now, Ben looks at him and says, “Take the shuttle. You want to give us the man.” 

“Fuck off,” Bala-Tik replies. 

“Bala-Tik, listen to me,” Ben smiles, radiating confidence. Maratelle's eyes move between Ben and Bala-Tik. _Now's the time to keep quiet_ , he thinks, as loudly as he can, projecting it into Maratelle's head. _Don't say a thing._ “Come on,” Ben continues. “You don't need a fucking slave. It's just another mouth to feed until you can get him to market, and he probably won't even earn back the investment. Look at him.” Bala-Tik complies. “You don't want him. Give him to us and take the shuttle.” 

Ben waits. The moment stretches. Just as Ben is about to reach, casually, for his blaster, Bala-Tik says, “I don't want him. Take him, I'll have the shuttle.”

“Come on.” Ben grabs Maratelle by the arm. For a brief second, Maratelle seems about to resist, but he's clearly not as stupid as he first appears. He lets Ben drag him out of the room. 

“What's going on?” Han's in the hallway. 

“We're going back to the _Falcon._ ” 

“What? No, no, no. This was our prize, fair and square.” 

“Bala-Tik's got a bug up his ass about the Blair'ereth thing.” 

“Fuck, I knew that would come back to bite us.” Han looks at Maratelle. “Who's that?” 

“Major Brendol Maratelle,” Ben replies. “He knows Kylo Ren.” 

“Shit,” Han replies. For once, Ben agrees with his father. 

***

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” Maratelle's voice is flat, but not so flat Ben misses the nervous hitch in it. 

He grins, pulling the welding mask down over his eyes. “So you _can_ speak.” Maratelle scowls, but doesn't move his hands. They're extended in front of him, the chain drawn taught between his wrists. “Well, it's either this,” Ben goes on, “or you get used to living your life in handcuffs. And I'm sure as hell not going to help you wipe your ass.” Maratelle's nose wrinkles in disgust. _Cute_ , Ben thinks. And that's as much as he's ever going to think about that. 

“It's not the equipment I find abhorrent,” Maratelle says, although he sneers at the machine in Ben's hands. “It's the operator. Couldn't the old man do it?” 

Ben laughs out loud. “You want my father to do this? You really aren't all that attached to your hands, are you?” 

“The Wookiee then.” 

“I didn't think you First Order types were so big on non-humans.” Chewbacca certainly isn't big on Maratelle. He growled dangerously when Ben and Han brought him aboard. Ben left Han to deal with him. Ben's known Chewie his whole life, but he and Han have a relationship all their own that Ben still isn't part of. He doubts he ever will be. “Just relax,” Ben tells Maratelle. “It'll be fine.” 

It is. In another life, Ben was trained to wield a light saber with microscopic precision. It's easy enough to slice through a set of handcuffs with the welder. Once they're off, Maratelle rubs at his wrists. They're raw, and Ben wonders, idly, how long he was wearing the cuffs. 

“You should take a shower,” Ben suggests,removing the mask. “And if you're going to be travelling with us, you'll need a change of clothes.” Maratelle is almost as tall as Ben, but much narrower. Maybe something of Han's will fit him. 

“I don't need to,” Maratelle replies, sharply. “Travel with you, I mean. Just drop me off at the nearest outpost.” 

“Why would we do that?” 

“For the same reasons you told that other cretin. You won't get anything for me at a slave market.” 

“And the First Order won't ransom you?” 

“The First Order doesn't negotiate with criminals.” 

“Ouch. That hurts.” Ben exaggeratedly grabs at his heart. “And after I saved you, too.” He picks up the welding machine. “The shower's that way.” He points. “And I'll get you a change of clothes. After that...” He trails off, holding Maratelle's gaze. Maratelle doesn't look away, his chin set defiantly. “We can have a good chat about your friend Kylo Ren.” Ben claps him on the shoulder and goes to put the welder away before Chewie can accuse him, yet again, of leaving his shit all over the place. 

About six standard months previously, they'd picked up a runaway slave at a spaceport on Fleer. He was a spindly redhead, pretty enough but too nervous for Ben to find him particularly attractive. Some kind of tech genius, he only stayed on the Falcon for a few weeks, until he hooked up with a big, blond First Order deserter they met in a cantina on Arnac. While he was with them, though, he fixed it so the _Falcon_ had access to all the First Order databases. 

Being able to spy that way had been incredibly valuable, time and time again. Now, as he listens to the sounds of the shower running in the next room, Ben sends a silent thank you to wherever the ex-slave is—hopefully he's happy, either with that deserter or somewhere else—and brings up the personnel file of one Major Brendol Maratelle. 

It's boringly average. Major Maratelle, it seems, was born to average parents, a few years before Ben, on a planet Ben has never heard of. He received average marks at the Academy, and since then seems to have had a career that's remarkable only in it's complete lack of remarkableness. 

_So why was on he on this mission?_ Ben wonders. He clicks over to the virtual bulletin board, where general notices are posted to First Order officers. He's not sure what he's looking for, or even if he's looking for anything at all. He scrolls past information posts about specialized training schedules and when new equipment is expected to be distributed. Chewbacca bellows to ask what Ben wants for dinner. He is about to close the program, get up and go over to reply, when his eye catches on a message: _Stormtrooper captains are advised to keep abreast of the situation with FN division._

That's it. In the months he's been able to read them, Ben has learned that communications from the First Order communications tend to be sparsely worded, sometimes cryptically so. But they do, fortunately, have a really excellent search engine. Typing “Stormtrooper FN Division” into the search bar brings up a flurry of results, the most interesting of which is: _All personnel are advised that as of 00 hours, six members of FN Division have been missing in action for three weeks, two days. This is the result of lawless activities on the part of devious Rebel traitors. We will honour our brave soldiers by routing out the vile scum from wherever they may be hiding. There is no place for their kind in our unified galaxy._

For an internal communication, it's remarkably passionate. _Is that who was on the shuttle with Maratelle?_ Ben wonders, but that, he can't find. The tech genius, who Ben named Techie because he didn't have another one, had told them there were levels of the First Order network he couldn't reach, encrypted channels used by the highest levels of the First Order command. Channels used by Kylo Ren, apparently, since that is a name that very rarely, if ever, comes up in the messages Ben can read. 

Which brings Ben right back to where he started. If he wants answers, he's going to have to get them out of Maratelle, one way or another. 

Han's clothes don't fit the major any better than Ben's would. The plain white shirt is all right, but the worn-out brown pants, the only ones Han would deign to loan, are short, falling well above Maratelle's ankles. He shaved in the shower, apparently, and the silly pants, combined with his smooth face and his damp hair, make him look suddenly young and vulnerable. Ben's heart lurches, just for a moment. Then Maratelle stares at him, his expression unforgiving and cold. “I'll eat here,” he announces, looking around like a visiting lord. 

“We always eat in the galley.” 

“I'm a prisoner. I can't eat with you.” 

“Why not?” 

Maratelle frowns. “Have you never had a prisoner before?” 

“Sure we have.” It's only a partial lie. He wasn't so much a prisoner as he was a Mon Calamari that owed Han a large amount of money, and they'd only kept him for about eighteen hours. That, along with some skilled acting on the part of “Chewie the Vicious Wookie” was all it took to convince him to pay what he owed, and then some. “Look,” Ben goes on, “if you want to be treated like shit, by all means, I can do that. But I would have thought a man from the First Order would appreciate a little civilization.” 

Maratelle snorts. “As if there's such thing with you people.” 

“Hey, now! I'll have you know, we only eat with our hands and throw the bones over our shoulders on special occasions.” 

Something that might be as smile crosses Maratelle's face. It's quick, but not so quick that Ben didn't see it. It makes him happier than it should. _Too long with the old man and the Wookiee,_ Ben tells himself, as he heads for the galley. _I'm starting to get desperate._ But not that desperate.

Ever since Ben's been travelling with his father and Chewbacca, Chewie has been the one to cook. This is a good thing. Ben can't boil water without creating a large, frustrating mess, and Han's idea of a five-star meal is a half-defrosted frozen squallburger and a murky energy drink. It does, however, mean that most of the menu is made up of Wookiee classics. 

Major Maratelle doesn't look like the kind of guy who's had a lot of wanaka berry salad and forest honey glazed flat biscuits. Chewie stares at him, like he's daring him to say something, but Maratelle's table manners are perfect. He cleans his plate—although, Ben thinks, that might be because he hasn't eaten since who knows when—and afterward says a polite, “Thank you.” Chewie grunts in reply.

As usual, Ben gathers up the dishes and takes them over to the sink. Han follows, but the singular fork in his hand makes Ben thinks it's not because he wants to help. “I take it you have some kind of plan?” His voice is low. Ben glances over his shoulder. Maratelle and Chewie are grimacing at each other, out of earshot.

“He knows Kylo Ren.” 

“So you said.” Han doesn't sound impressed about it. 

“I want to find out what happened to the shuttle.” 

“Why do you care?” 

Ben shrugs. “It's a mystery.” 

“We don't have time to waste on useless shit like that, Ben.” 

“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize we were so fucking busy.” So busy, in fact, that the attempt to take the First Order shuttle had been the first mission they'd had in weeks.

“We sure as hell,” Han goes on, as if he hadn't spoken, “don't have food to waste on First Order SOBs. So unless you have a solid plan about what you want to do with this guy...”

“I want to see her. Maybe he can get me there.” Ben hasn't spoken the words aloud before, but he doesn't think it's any great secret. He wants to see Kylo Ren. He wants to talk to her. 

Han sighs deeply. “That's a terrible idea.” 

“I can protect myself.” 

“She's stronger than you, Ben. Always was. Fuck knows what she's like now. She could kill you with a blink of her eyes. Less than that, probably.” 

“She hasn't, though.” If Kylo wanted to track him down, finish the job she started all those years ago, she could have done it. Ben's never doubted that for an instant. But she's left him alone. 

“So, naturally, you're going to go tightrope walking over a sarlacc pit?” 

“She's not a sarlacc pit, Dad. She's Rey.” And she always will be, to Ben if no one else. 

Han shakes his head, but he doesn't argue. He walks away, out of the galley and presumably up to the cockpit. Chewie joins him, leaving Major Maratelle alone at the table. Ben goes back, to gather the rest of the dishes. 

“May I be of some help?” Maratelle offers. 

Ben laughs. “No offense, Major, but you don't look like you've washed many dishes in your time.” 

“Of course not. We have droids for that.” They'd had one, too, until Han lost it in a bet with a Bloxian on Hosnian Prime. “But you've been nothing but hospitable to me. I can assist you if needed.” 

“No, you relax. You're our guest. Besides, you'll be helping me out plenty pretty soon.” 

Maratelle looks him in the eye, the now-familiar defiant set to his chin. “I won't tell you anything, if that's what you're getting at.” 

“You don't have to _tell_ me.” 

Maratelle doesn't lower his eyes, but he swallows. Ben can see it in Maratelle's slender throat. He's sweating, too, a bead rolling down his pale forehead. It makes Ben feel uneasy. “I won't hurt you,” Ben assures him. He's not a monster. He's not even really an asshole, not these days. “But I need you to help me find Kylo Ren.” 

The major doesn't ask why. Instead, he says, “You're a Jedi.” Technically, no. Since he didn't complete his training, Ben is stuck as a perpetual padawan, but that doesn't sound nearly as intimidating. He doesn't correct Maratelle. “She told me she killed them all.” 

“She didn't.” 

“Does she know...” Maratelle trails off.

“She knows I'm alive. She doesn't know where I am.” 

“Why would you ever want to change that?” 

Ben nearly launches into the whole story, but he catches himself in time. Maratelle isn't a friend. He isn't even an acquaintance. He's an enemy soldier, and he's only here until Ben can get what he wants out of him. “Just sit there,” Ben orders. “Don't move.” 

“Or, what, you'll make me wash the plates after all?” The nervousness has passed, it seems, but there's still a wariness in Maratelle's eyes. 

“No. You wouldn't be up to Chewbacca's standards,” Ben shoots back, and gathers up the dishes. 

Ben's not an interrogator. That's usually Han's job, while Ben and Chewbacca lurk behind him, looking menacing—Ben likes to think equally menacing, but he's not fucking stupid—in their separate ways. But it's pretty clear Han has no interest in Major Maratelle beyond kicking him out into deep space, so this is going to be up to Ben. 

He could just push his way into Maratelle's mind. From the taste of it he'd had on the shuttle, Ben knew that Maratelle would try to resist, but he's nowhere near strong enough to hold out for long. Normally, Ben has no trouble using the Force in any and all ways that can help them out, but, as he sits across the empty table from Maratelle, he finds himself oddly reluctant to jump into it. “It would really be easier on you if you'd just tell me,” Ben says. He expects outright refusal, or maybe just stony silence. Instead, Maratelle sighs. 

“What exactly are you asking?” 

Ben blinks. Shock knocks all questions from his mind, and he has to scramble to think of something to say. He lands on, “What happened to your shuttle?” It isn't the most pressing of concerns, but at least it's something. 

“We were attacked,” Maratelle says. 

Ben waits, but he doesn't continue. “By who?” 

“I don't know. I really don't,” Maratelle repeats, as Ben lets incredulity onto his face. “I took immediate shelter in my quarters, as per protocol. I emerged when everything seemed to be under control, only to run into our repulsive Yinchorri friend.” 

“But you don't think he's the one who attacked you?” 

“Not even a dozen Yichorri would have been able to defeat my Stormtroopers.” 

Probably not. “Your Stormtroopers?” Ben means it as a half-joke, but Maratelle instantly flushes red. 

“I was their commanding officer. While we were on this mission, I mean.” 

“Where were you going?” 

Maratelle hesitates, but answers. “To a meeting. I was meant to negotiate a treaty with the people of Lasan.” 

“Is that your job? Negotiations?” It wasn't mentioned on the personnel file Ben read. 

“I do a lot of things,” Maratelle replies. “And that's all I'm going to say.” 

“You know I can just go in there and take what I want.” Maratelle doesn't reply. _I could do it_ , Ben repeats to himself. But still, he feels strangely hesitant to go through with it. 

The standoff is broken a moment later by Maratelle. He stifles a yawn, and Ben sighs. “You should get to bed.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?” 

“Probably never.” 

Ben smiles. He gets that feeling. “Well, you should at least try.” He stands. “Come on, I'll show you were you can bunk. We'll talk more in the morning,” Ben adds, in case Maratelle thinks he's getting away with this. 

“All right,” Maratelle replies. Wariness colours his voice, but there's something else, too. Gratitude? Ben doesn't pause to think about it. 

He shows Maratelle to an empty bunk room. “Don't think about trying to escape,” he says, although it's a pretty pointless threat. Unless Maratelle is stupid enough to try and overpower Chewie, which he's probably not, there's literally nowhere for him to go. 

“I won't.” Ben turns to go. Maratelle stops him when he says, “Thank you.” 

“You're welcome,” Ben replies, because he was raised with manners, too. He leaves, wondering whether he's the worst captor in the galaxy, or the best.


	2. Chapter 2

As a kid, Ben never wanted to be like his dad.

He liked flying around on the _Falcon_ , of course. What kid wouldn't? But Ben knew from the beginning that he was going to be a Jedi knight like his uncle, and Luke agreed with him. He promised that when Ben was eleven years old—Ben didn't know why that age, and not, say, ten, or twelve—they would go live in a commune with other padawans, and Ben would learn the true way of the Jedi.

When Ben was eight, Luke came home after several standard months away with a baby in tow.

"He would never say who her mother was," Leia told Ben, afterward. "Han and I told him it didn't matter, that we'd think no less of him if she was a prostitute or a senator or something other than human. Or if he'd had her grown in a lab because he wanted a baby. It was all the same to us. But Luke wouldn't say a word."

At the time, Ben couldn't have cared less. Rey's mother wasn't there, but Ben's father was often absent, too. And Rey was so sweet, so adorable and perfect that even an eight-year-old boy with no interest in babies couldn't help but fall in love with her.

She was about a year and a half old when it first happened. Rey and Ben were playing together at Leia's house, Ben building towers of blocks for Rey to knock down, when suddenly Ben heard a rattling noise from the kitchen. He turned to face the sound, but before he could get up to investigate, a bottle of baby formula came flying through the door. It hit Rey squarely in her little chest. She whimpered for a moment, then took the bottle in her hands and began to suck happily. "Mom!" Ben called. He must have sounded panicked, because Leia came running. She never did that. "Rey can use the Force!" Ben remembers being proud as he said it, thrilled that his little cousin was gifted in the same way he was. He remembers, as well, being put out when Leia didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. He told her about the bottle, but still, Leia didn't smile.

"I'll have to speak to Luke," was all she said. Ben, disappointed in adults for what was neither the first nor the last time in his young life, went back to the blocks.

When Luke finally set up his Jedi commune, Rey came, too. Despite Luke's promises, Ben was nearly fourteen before it was ready. There were three other padawans Ben didn't know, two girls and a boy, all around Ben's age. It was soon obvious that little gap-toothed Rey was by far the strongest of them. She mastered complex skills before Ben and the others even began to understand them. She could lift wrecked shuttles from the swamp--one of Luke's favourite, tedious exercises--without seeming to exert the slightest amount of effort. She could wield her practice lightsaber with such dexterity that it was impossible even for teenagers more than twice her age to defeat her. But still, it never occurred to Ben to be angry about that, or jealous of her.

He was angry about plenty of other things, though. Hormones and adolescent rage hit him hard. Ben found himself more and more frustrated that he couldn't quiet his mind, couldn't focus the way he should have been able to. Couldn't control his gift the way he wanted to. One morning when he was nineteen, after a particularly infuriating failed attempt at mind-reading, he stormed off in a fury, into the woods that surrounded the commune. He walked aimlessly for hours, until the twin suns were high in the sky. It was then, as Ben sat stewing beside a little stream, that Luke came up behind him.

"You're a gifted man, Ben,” Luke said, calmly. Ben scoffed. "You remind me a lot of me when I was young."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Ben snapped. Luke didn't seem taken aback by his rudeness. Of course, they were all used to it by then.

"It means you have a strong spirit. I hope you never lose it. But you need to gain control over it. Allow others to help you. Accept that you don't always know what's best." Ben sighed, loudly. Luke held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go home for dinner."

That was the last real conversation he ever had with Luke. Looking back, Ben wishes it had been a bit more meaningful. If he'd known what would come next, Ben likes to think he would have asked for one last piece of advice, a few final words of wisdom Ben could keep with him as he continued his life alone. _Knowing me,_ Ben thinks sometimes, _I probably would have just asked for his bladeberry flatcake recipe._

The first thing Ben noticed when he got back to the camp was the smell. The commune was in a jungle that was very close to being a swamp, and the air was heavy and humid all year round. With the tropical climate came tropical insects, bloodflies and rot-wings and other jewels of creation that forced everyone to sleep beneath nets at night and slap at themselves during the day. Ben could hear the bugs buzzing in greater numbers than normal, a nearly deafening sound, as he and Luke stepped through the open doorway into the camp's main building. It was immediately obvious why the insects were there.

Ben had never seen so much blood. However the other padawans were killed--and Ben still doesn't know for sure--it wasn't with the relatively clean, cauterizing lightsaber. This was a gory mess. Ben's stomach heaved, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. It was too late. He made it outside just in time, retching over the bushes until there was nothing left in his always half-empty stomach. 

When he looked over his shoulder, Luke hadn't moved. He was frozen in place, staring at the carnage. 

A thought struck Ben. “Where's Rey?” The bodies in the building were grown. Ben had been able to tell that with one quick glance. There was no sign of a little eleven-year-old. “Where is she?” 

“I'm sorry,” Luke said. He didn't look at Ben. “I'm sorry,” he said again, and he walked away into the jungle. 

Ben didn't follow him. Instead, he tore around the camp, searching for Rey. His heart hammered, with fear as much as with hope, as he checked her favourite hiding spots, looked beneath her bunk, burst open the latrine doors. Nothing. _Someone's taken her_ , Ben thought. There was no other explanation. 

There was also nothing he could do about it alone, but the commlink was in the main hall. 

Nowadays, the galaxy sees Ben as a washout, a useless drifter like his father. He knows that, and doesn't give a shit. He knows who he really is: the guy who, at nineteen years old, stepped over the fallen bodies of his friends, tears pouring from his eyes and his sandals squelching in blood, to get to the commlink to call for help. 

For the second time in her life, Leia came when Ben called her. She brought others, too, a huge coterie of her Rebel friends who swarmed over the Jedi camp like wart-hornets. “We have to find out who took Rey,” Ben insisted. Leia looked at him, and he knew what she was going to say before she began. 

“Ben...” 

He shook his head. “It can't be.” The thought had crossed Ben's mind, in the hours he'd spent sitting outside the hall waiting for Leia to arrive. It had been fleeting, and it felt like treachery. “It can't.” 

“Rey was born through the Force,” Leia said, bluntly. That was always her style. In a crisis, she was no different. “Like my father. I've long suspected it.” 

“But Luke...”

“Luke is gone. And now it's up to you and me to deal with this.” Ben couldn't remember her ever including him in anything before. A sob escaped Ben. Leia put her arms around him, reaching up to hold him tightly. He lowered himself, bending his large frame nearly in two to rest his head on her shoulder. They hadn't hugged like that for years, not since Ben was a toddler. When it was over, they never did it again. 

***

“ _Wake up!_ ” 

Ben is jolted from sleep by a sudden, blazing light and the unmistakable bellow of a Wookie.

“What?” Ben squints. “What's wrong?” 

“ _Look at this._ ”Chewie shoves a holoviewer into Ben's hands. Struggling into a sitting position, Ben switches it on, and an image appears.

It's a man in a greatcoat and hat, both carrying the emblem of the First Order, the vaguely sun-like symbol Ben likes to refer to as “the great asshole.” He's standing on some kind of stage or platform, delivering a speech so impassioned, his face is reddening—that much is obvious even on the low-quality holo—and spittle is flying from his mouth. He accentuates his points here and there with a jab of his gloved finger. “ _I knew I'd seen him somewhere before._ ” Chewie smiles with satisfaction. 

Ben frowns at the image. Obviously, he's supposed to recognize him, but the face beneath the hat is blurry. Ben can't put a name to it. Then, the figure jerks his head, and a lock of errant ginger hair falls onto his forehead. “Is that Major Maratelle?” 

“ _General Hux_ ,” Chewie corrects, triumphantly. “ _Commander of the First Order's flag ship Finalizer._ ”

“No.” Ben shakes his head. “There's no way.”

“ _No way what? That he could have fooled you? Seems like he did._ ” 

“I looked up Maratelle. He's in their database.” 

“ _So he assumed a false identity. They're crafty bastards, Ben. You know that._ ” 

Evidently, not well enough. Ben does, however, know one thing. “I'm going to kill him.” 

Chewie doesn't try to stop him. 

Maratelle—Hux, Ben corrects himself—opens his eyes the instant Ben bursts into the room. He tries to sit up, but Ben doesn't let him. He pushes him back onto the bed, his broad hand on Hux's narrow chest, and dives into Hux's mind. 

Hux doesn't have time to protect himself, like he did before. Everything is out there, laid bare in front of Ben. Chewie is right. Major Brendol Maratelle is a false identity, created in case something like this ever happened. The names come from Hux's parents, and he chose them because he thought they would be easy to remember under torture. It was his idea to create a personnel profile for Maratelle, to help sell the lie. "You never know where our enemies are," Hux had said, to a table full of crusty old officers and openly admiring underlings. "We can never be too careful." 

Hux has a lot of ideas like that, but they aren't always appreciated. A wave of Hux's resentment washes over Ben as he probes deeper yet. He sees Hux standing with the masked Kylo Ren in front of a projection of a tall, monstrous figure, pale and skinny with bulging eyes. Hux is meant to be Kylo Ren's equal, but neither she nor this creature see it that way. They're conspiring with each other, Hux suspects. One day, they're going to get rid of him. His mind is full of plans for that day, ideas of what he's going to do when Ren and this creature, called “Snoke”, decide Hux is no longer needed. He isn't going to die easily, that much is certain. Ben can't help but feel a grain of grudging admiration when he senses just how strongly Hux intends to fight back against these beings who are incalculably stronger than him. 

“Ben!” Han's voice is suddenly loud in Ben's ear. He draws back from Hux's mind, too roughly and too quickly. Hux's eyes roll back in his head and he falls into a dead faint. For a moment, Ben almost feels guilty, but he doesn't have time to indulge the sentiment.

“There's a ship approaching,” Chewie bellows down the corridor.

“I'll be right there.” With one last glance at Hux, Ben heads for the cockpit. He arrives just as the holoprojector is flickering to life. 

“Hello.” The voice is different, mutated by a vocoder in the mask, but Ben doesn't have to look to know who it is. “Ben,” the voice adds. The holo image rolls, sending a shimmy through the robed figure in front of them. 

Ben swallows. “Hello, Rey,” he replies. 

She hesitates, briefly, then chuckles. “I haven't heard that name for a long time.” 

“It's your name, though.” Ben's heart is hammering so loudly, he's certain she can hear it. _Stupid_ , he tells himself. _She's Rey._ No matter what she's done, she's still Rey. 

“It used to be. A lot of things have changed. But not everything, I see.” She tilts her head. “Hello, Uncle Han.” 

“Uh, hi.” Han grunts. 

“I'd love to catch up, but it seems that you have something that belongs to me.” 

“What would that be, Rey?” Ben asks, although he knows the answer.

“My co-commander.” 

“General Hux?” 

Han turns to stare at him. Ben ignores him. 

“Yes,” Rey agrees. “I'm sending you the co-ordinates of a planet. Meet me there in ninety minutes.” The instrument panel in front of Chewie beeps. “And Ben.” The figure turns a little. Ben can't tell where she's looking, but he assumes it's at him. “It's good to see you again.” The communication is cut and the image fizzles out. 

After a long, quiet moment, Han breaks the silence. “Shit.” Chewie yelps an agreement. 

“Can you get us to those co-ordinates, Chewie?” Ben asks. Nervousness coils in his stomach, alongside something else. This is what he wanted, he reminds himself. He wants to see Rey again. 

“Look, son, I don't know if...”

“It's okay.” Ben interrupts. “It'll be fine. She's here for her friend. She's not going to hurt us.” 

“You're sure of that?” 

“Yes,” Ben replies, immediately. He is. Right? “I'm going to tell Hux. Let me know when we get there.” Chewie growls, but he takes the throttle. The ship jumps to hyperspace, stars streaking past the viewports as Ben goes to wake up their guest again.

As it turns out, he's already conscious, sitting on the bunk looking dazed. “Your friend's here,” Ben barks. He's not going to feel bad about the stunned, woozy look on the other man's face. Maratelle, Hux, whoever he is, this man is a liar and an enemy. He's Ben's enemy. He's Rey's as well, really. No matter what choices she's made in her life, she doesn't belong with the likes of Hux. 

“Get out of here,” Hux says. Before Ben can scoff at his nerve, Hux goes on, “Get as far away from her as you can.” 

“That's a nice way to talk about your...” What was it Rey had called him? “Your co-commander.” 

“I don't think you're a stupid man.” Hux seems to be recovering rapidly. He pushes back his hair into some semblance of order. “You've been in my head. You know what she's like.” 

Ben does. He knows she's sweet, and thoughtful, and when she was five years old, she was so afraid of thunderstorms she would sometimes sneak next door, to where Ben and his parents lived, and climb into bed with her big, strong older cousin. Ben always let her, even though she kicked in her sleep and he stayed awake all night when she was with him. “You're afraid of her. That doesn't mean I have to be.” 

“I'm not afraid,” Hux replies, like that's a stupid observation. “Fear comes from uncertainty. I know she will kill me one day, there's nothing uncertain about it.”

“But you're still going to fight her when it happens.” Ben saw it, over and over again in Hux's mind. He thinks about it all the time, it seems. 

“I'm going to to try.” Again, there's a note of determination in Hux's voice that Ben would find admirable, in anyone other than this liar. “But she let you get away once. Why not be happy with that and stay the fuck away?” 

“Because she let me get away once.” If nothing else, Ben has to know why. 

There's nothing more to say, so Ben turns around and walks away, leaving the door open. After a moment, he hears Hux's feet on the deck plating behind him. 

Ben recognizes the planet well before they break atmosphere, just after Han says, “I knew I remembered those co-ordinates.” 

They haven't been here in years, although for a while, they visited every few standard months. Ben doesn't know if the planet has a name. It must have, but he's never heard it. For him, it was always "the cabin," like the entire planet boiled down to the little house where he and his parents, and sometimes Rey and Luke, spent their holidays. 

“Why does she want to meet here?” Han asks, confused. 

“It's a place from our past.” And maybe, Ben thinks, by choosing it she's signalling a desire to go back there, literally and figuratively. 

It's raining when they land, but from what Ben remembers, this place is deluged by rain for more than half the year. He spent a lot of his childhood staring out the windows, watching rivulets run down the transparisteel. 

“You should stay here, in the ship.” It's the first time Hux has spoken since he came into the cockpit. He's addressing Han and Chewie, it seems. Chewie pointedly ignores him, staring at his instruments with more intensity than necessary, but Han looks over. 

“And let Ben go out by himself?” 

Ben's not sure whether he should find the naked alarm in his father's voice touching, or insulting. 

“He won't be by himself,” Hux replies. I'll be there.” 

Han snorts. “Yeah, well. Forgive me if that don't exactly comfort an old man.” 

“Rest assured, Mr. Solo, I am a man of unimpeachable integrity.” Ben doesn't know if it's his imagination, but it seems like Hux's accent has grown more pronounced. His expression has definitely become harder. He stares at Han with unblinking green eyes and no, Ben did not just feel an extremely inappropriate flicker deep in his gut. “You rescued me, and you've treated me well. I have no intention of letting my...co-commander harm any of you.” The natural addition to those words, the one Ben can see in Hux's eyes, is _but I might not be able to stop her._ The words hang unspoken. 

“It's all right,” Ben breaks in. He can't imagine Rey hurting Han or Chewie, but still. Perhaps the fewer people there, the better. “I'll be fine,” he adds. 

Han looks between Hux and Ben. “Don't do anything stupid,” he says, finally. “I mean it. Whatever crazy ideas you've got into your head about her, Ben, she's not a kid. She's Kylo Ren.” 

“I know, Dad.” He does. 

“And you.” Han turns to Hux. “I guess you're actually some First Order big shot or something?” He glances at Chewie, who wails an affirmative. “Then you'd better know that I don't give a shit who you are. Anything happens to my boy, and you're dead.” Hux smirks, and Han scowls. “What? You don't think I can do it?” 

“Not at all.” Hux's tone is placating, diplomatic. “I just think it's lovely you have so much care for your son.” He sounds a little wistful. Ben guesses Brendol and Maratelle didn't share that level of parental devotion. 

Han ignores him. “Get yourself armoured up,” he tells Ben. “Take the saber.” Normally, Ben would refuse. He keeps the lightsaber for sentimental value only. He hasn't touched it in years. But this time, Ben nods, as Chewie begins the descent toward the surface. “And if anything happens to you,” Han adds, “I'll tell your mom you were saving Ewok orphans or some shit, right?” 

***

The planet smells exactly the way Ben remembers it: wet, grassy, salty. The scent of the land mingling with the scent of the sea. Just before they landed, Rey sent another set of co-ordinates. They're near enough to the old family cabin that Ben can just see its roof peeking over a hilltop. Rey didn't ask him to come alone, but the _Falcon_ is out of sight, at the base of another large hill. Ben remembers rolling down that one as a child, and getting scolded by Leia for coming home covered in mud and grass stains. As if there was anything else to do in this place.

Rey isn't immediately visible. Neither is her shuttle. As they wait, Hux asks, “Can you sense her?” 

“Sense her?” 

“I thought the Jedi were able to do that. Get feelings when another Jedi is near or some damn thing.” 

Ben looks around. The spot Rey chose is at the top of one of the planet's large, rocky cliffs. A narrow, weathered staircase leads down to the small beach. Ben and Leia spent countless hours there, pulling the shellfish she called “pillops” from the rocks to bring home for dinner. Ben hated every minute of it. Strangely, now, he finds he wouldn't mind spending a quiet, peaceful afternoon plucking pillops. _I could even get Hux to join in,_ Ben thinks, almost giddily. The idea of him flailing about the shallow sea in Leia's huge rubber boots makes Ben snort aloud. _I'm losing my mind,_ he determines, as Hux looks sharply in his direction. 

Suddenly, Ben is struck by a feeling, but it doesn't indicate Rey's presence. Instead, it urges him to give Hux one of the blasters Ben has strapped around his body. Before Ben can think twice, he's doing it, unfastening the holster around his waist and holding it out to Hux. 

“What are you doing?” Hux looks at him suspiciously. 

“Take it.” 

“I'm your enemy. Why would you wish me armed?” 

“You're not...” _You're not my enemy,_ Ben's about to say. Hux doesn't feel like one, not at the moment. “Just take it,” Ben says instead. “It's important.” Ben hopes Hux doesn't ask him to explain, because he can't. This is the bane of Ben's life, the legacy, he assumes, of his aborted Jedi training. If he'd completed it, maybe he would understand his powers. As is, he's at their mercy. At the moment, his powers want Hux to have that blaster.

Hux doesn't argue any further. Without being told to, he hikes up Han's shirt, revealing a band of very pale freckled skin. Ben looks away politely as Hux loops the blaster belt around his waist and pulls the shirt back over top, to conceal it. It's not a moment too soon. On the hillside, two figures appear, seemingly out of nowhere. One is dressed in black, the other in white. As they approach, Ben can see it's Rey and a Stormtrooper. 

Ben's palms are sweaty even as his throat is dry. His heart beats so wildly, he wonders if its about to give out, while at the same time, his stomach ties itself into knots. _It's Rey,_ he reminds himself, again. _Just Rey._ He thinks it over and over again as the figures approach. He has to. This woman looks nothing like his little cousin. 

She's taller than Ben. That's the first thing Ben notices when she draws near. She's grown, of course. She was only a child when Ben last saw her, but not all of this height is natural. Her boots are massive and they, along with her billowing, singed cloak and hood and the metal mask over her face, combine to turn her into a figure of epic proportions. The Stormtrooper by her side looks slight in comparison. He glances between Hux and Ben, suspicion evident even though his face is also covered by his helmet. 

Rey stops directly in front of Ben, but she doesn't speak. Ben has to say something, he decides. He has to set the tone, prove that he knows who she really is, beneath all of this drama and artifice. He opens his mouth, and Rey cuts him off. 

“Cousin.” Her voice is deeper than expected. Even deeper than it was on the holo. She turns to Hux. “I apologize for the inconvenience, General. It was imperative I find my cousin as quickly as possible. I knew a disabled First Order shuttle was a lure he could not possibly resist.” 

Hux frowns. “I beg your pardon?” 

“The General is slow at times.” Now, Rey turns to Ben, lowering her voice conspiratorially although she can still clearly be heard by the others. “An engineering genius, but somewhat...delayed when it comes to interpersonal relations.” 

“Are you saying you deliberately sabotaged my mission to Lasan?” Hux snaps.

“I'm saying there was no mission to Lasan, General. I had a tracking device implanted in you and set you adrift for my pirate cousin to find. The plan worked perfectly.” 

“The plan? I was held captive for days. A Yinchorri nearly succeeded in stealing the ship. The Stormtroopers...” 

“This loyal soldier took care of them for me.” She indicates the Stormtrooper at her side. “He performed admirably. A shining example of your beloved Stormtrooper program. You should be proud. I plan to recommend him for promotion when we return to the _Finalizer._ ” 

“You...I...” Hux gapes. He's turning red, Ben notices, and clenching his fists uselessly at his sides. 

“It was all approved by Snoke, General. There's no sense in getting worked up about it.” She turns her back on Hux, effectively dismissing him. It makes him even redder, but Ben can't worry about him now. Now, he has the full weight of Rey's gaze on him. 

“You look well.” It might just be another effect of the vocoder, but it seems as though her voice softens as she speaks to him. “I trust you remember this place as well as I do.” 

“Of course.” 

“Come.” She holds out an arm. Ben takes it. The material of her uniform, costume, whatever it is, scratches at his arm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Slowly, she leads him away from Hux and the Stormtrooper, in the direction of the cabin. “There must be a lot you want to ask me,” she says, as they walk. She doesn't give him the chance to reply. “I can answer all your questions, Ben. I will. But first, I have a remarkable opportunity for you.” 

“An opportunity?”

“Snoke has decided the time is right. We knew this day would arrive, that's why I spared you. Now, you will join us.” 

“Join you?” Ben feels like he's on shaky ground, scrambling to get a foothold while he stupidly parrots Rey's words back to her. 

“Yes. You remember Snoke, don't you? The voice in my head? I told you about him once.” Ben doesn't remember anything of the sort. Rey laughs, a bizarre, distorted sound. “Or maybe you weren't listening to me. You were so busy trying to get Poe Dameron to notice you back then. Did you ever succeed?” 

“We hooked up a few times.” Not as many as Ben would have liked, but that's hardly his principal regret at the moment. Rey tried to tell him about this...creature in her head? And he hadn't listened? Had Ben squandered a chance to save Rey without even knowing it? 

“Snoke was the only one who really believed in my powers. The only one who didn't underestimate me. And now look where I am.” _Yes,_ Ben thinks. _Look where you are._ “He wants to do the same for you, Ben. Don't worry.” She stops abruptly, angling her head to look down at him through her mask. “He knows you weren't able to complete your training. He'll train you himself. And then the three of us will rule the galaxy together, the way it was always meant to be.” 

“That's...” Ben doesn't know where to start, so he decides to keep it simple. “No,” he says, his voice pleasingly confident even as he feels like he's about to throw up. 

Rey laughs again. It's not the reaction Ben was expecting. “Snoke said you would be reluctant. You've spent too long with people like your parents. People like Luke. You doubt your own abilities, but you shouldn't. Snoke and I can show you just how powerful you really are.” 

Ben breathes deeply, in and out, just in case he forgets to do it later. “It's not that, Rey.” 

“Kylo Ren. Or just Kylo, for you.” 

He can't call her that. “It's not that,” he repeats. “What you do, it's...” Criminal? Monstrous? Evil? Based on everything Ben's heard, all of those words are true, but Ben doubts any of them would go over particularly well. “Not for me.” 

It takes all of Ben's considerable willpower not to cringe. He stands tall, his shoulders back, and looks at her. Rey reaches for her belt. Automatically, Ben does the same, and with a crackle and a buzz, both lightsabers are drawn. 

Rey's is unlike anything Ben has ever seen. It's deep, ruby red, the colour of the Sith and would-be Sith, but instead of a straight blade, it's curved, like a scimitar. His astonishment must be obvious, because Rey says, “Do you like it? I designed it myself, of course.” She looks at him. “Is that Luke's?” 

Ben holds up his lightsaber. It feels heavier than he remembers, awkward in hands that aren't used to wielding it. _If she wants to fight_ , he thinks, _I'm fucked._ He pushes that thought aside and concentrates on not dropping his weapon. “It's mine,” Ben says. He found it at the commune, after the carnage was cleared away. He planned to keep it for Luke when he returned, but Luke never came back. 

“Of course,” Rey repeats. She twirls her lightsaber effortlessly, passing it from one hand to the next. “I can't hate him,” she says. Ben assumes she's still talking about Luke. “He saved me from some shithole of a desert planet. Without him, I would have grown up a scavenger or a whore. Probably both, at least until Snoke found me. But Luke never saw me for what I am.” 

“What's that?” Stalling, Ben can do. It's a vital skill in his line of work. What exactly he's stalling _for_ , he's not so sure. 

“Luke thought I was like him,” Rey says. “But I'm so much more than that. I'm like his father.” 

“Like Anakin Skywalker?” The story of Leia's father's miserable life and final redemption was mostly avoided when Ben was growing up, but Ben knows who he was. There's no way he couldn't. 

“Like Darth Vader.” 

Rey lunges at him. Ben parries the thrust. The fact that he succeeds leads him to believe she wasn't really trying to hurt him. “What kind of life do you have now, Ben? Flying around with your father and the Wookiee? It's a waste.” 

“You sound like my mother.” 

“She's a smart woman.” Rey lashes out again, and again Ben is able to hold her off. It feels like a game, like they're kids playing at swordfighting, but he and Rey never played those types of games. “With us, you'll have power beyond anything you can dream of. Beyond anything Luke ever told us about. I can teach you so much.” She takes a step forward. Instinctively, Ben steps back. “I love you, Ben. You're more than an adopted cousin to me. You're my big brother.” Another step. She's backing him toward the edge of the cliff, Ben can see that now. He darts his gaze from side to side, but there's no way to run from her. He's not desperate enough to try. Not yet. “Don't you like the thought of it? You and I, ruling the galaxy as brother and sister?”

Rey isn't Bala-Tik. She isn't the Kanjiklub leader _du jour_ , she isn't Warda the Hutt or any of the small-time grifters and gangsters Ben has spent his life dealing with. She's probably the most powerful person in the galaxy, but Ben doesn't have a lot of options here. He has to bluff her. “All right,” he says. “I'll do it.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, when you put it like that, who wouldn't agree?”

Rey stops, but she doesn't holster the lightsaber. Instead, she uses her free hand to pull off her mask. 

There's a scar on her face. A small one, above her left eye. Other than that, she looks exactly the same. Her hair is even done up in the three buns she always liked, a style Ben himself used to help her achieve when she was too little to manage it herself. The sight knocks the breath from Ben. _She's not a monster_ , he tells himself. _I was right._

The words have barely formed in his mind when Rey drops the mask and reaches out, grabbing him roughly by the throat. She yanks him toward her and, in a single brutish movement, pushes her way deep into his mind. 

It's painful, at first. She was always stronger than him, even as a child. He could keep secrets from the other padawans at Luke's commune, cloud their minds with his tricks, but he could never trick Rey. Unfortunately.

He watches, helpless with agony, as she rifles through his brain. She doesn't get far. She doesn't have to. A deep frown etches itself on her face, and she pushes him over, onto his back in the wet grass. “You're a fucking liar, Ben,” she hisses. It's stupid, but hearing little Rey swear is more jarring than anything else. “I don't want to do this, but you're not giving me any choice.” The lightsaber sizzles, red and hot, a breath away from Ben's face. “Anything else you want to say?” 

Ben swallows. He might as well go for it now. “Your dad's going to be so pissed when he hears about this.” Han would probably have a better line, but that has to do. Ben squeezes his eyes shut and waits for oblivion. 

Instead, he hears a blaster shot, followed by a yell and a crash. Immediately, the heat disappears from his skin, and Ben opens his eyes. Rey is gone. Not gone as in no longer threatening his life, but gone as in disappeared. In her place stands Hux, looking slightly surprised, with the blaster Ben gave him in his hand. “I absolutely cannot believe,” Hux says, slowly, “that she fucking set me up.” 

“Where...” 

Hux's gaze goes to the cliff. Scrambling to his feet, Ben peers over. Rey lies in a heap at the bottom, her body broken across the pillop-strewn rocks. 

“You...” Ben has apparently lost the ability to form complete sentences. “I mean, she was your...you were on the same...”

“Yes. Well.” Hux steps back from the edge. Ben follows. He's not sure he'll ever be able to eat seafood stew again, but since that's not on Chewie's menu rotation, it's no big loss. “I suppose it was only a matter of time. And now I am completely certain where Snoke's loyalties lie, it's not like I can go back there, anyway.”

Later, Ben will put it down to adrenaline, the thrill of escaping death by a hair's breadth. He grabs Hux's shirt and pulls him in, crashing their mouths together with nothing resembling dignity or restraint. Hux wraps his hand around Ben's wrist, but rather than push him away, he kisses back, pressing his tongue against Ben's lips until Ben opens them and allows him to slip inside. 

“Ah, excuse me. Sorry.” Hux pulls away, and they both turn to face the Stormtrooper beside them. He's removed his helmet, revealing a young, handsome face. The designation FN-2187 is on his uniform. “I guess you won't be going back to the First Order?” Hux doesn't deign to answer. “It's just, like...can I come with you?” 

“Sure,” Ben replies easily. Then he passes out. 

***

“Look, Ben, I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything...”

“Really? Because you could have fucking fooled me, old man.” 

Han shakes his head. “We're all guys, right? And I'm glad you're finally getting some, even if it is from a First Order bastard.” 

“Ex-First Order bastard,” Ben corrects. “And, as I keep telling you, he saved my life.” 

“And Bala-Tik once convinced a disgruntled Shi'ido not to rape me in the back room of a dive bar on Coruscant, but we're not knocking boots. But whatever. It's just that the ship's drainage system really isn't meant to handle that much jizz, and Chewie's already kind of pissed off at you. You know how he gets when he has to keep going below to unblock the pipes.” 

“Right, right.” Ben needs this conversation to be over. “We won't fuck in the shower anymore, okay? Happy?” 

“Ecstatic.” Han walks away. Ben will have to break the news to Hux, but that still leaves them the bed, the desk, and if Chewie and Han are sleeping, the common room sofa and the engine room. 

Ben turns back to the charts he's supposed to be examining. Hux—who insists on going by that name, even though Ben sneaked into the First Order database and found out his first name is actually Armitage—has been with them for nearly two standard months now. It's not all sunshine and wish plants, even though Hux has already proved himself more than capable of talking himself out of a jam or two, but Ben is happy. Hux, it seems, is happy. Han is reasonably content and Chewie is surviving. That's about as much as they can hope for. 

As Ben squints at the screen in front of him, he's struck, suddenly and painfully, by an emotion so strong, it knocks the breath from him. It's not a vision, or anything he can possibly prove, just a feeling. _She's still alive._

Instantly, the sensation is gone. Ben blinks, reeling, as the door slides open and Hux steps inside. 

“You all right?” Hux looks down. He's bought some new clothes, finally, so no longer has to wear Han's castoffs. The black tunic and black pants look suspiciously like his old uniform, but Ben hasn't mentioned it. “Ben?” Hux draws his ginger eyebrows together. Over the last few weeks, Ben has grown oddly fond of them. 

“I'm fine.” Ben forces a smile. “Dad says we have to stop getting come in the shower drains.” Hux turns ice white, then bright red in quick succession. It's a fascinating spectacle. Ben pushes his work—and his foreboding thoughts—aside, and pulls Hux onto his lap to see if he can make him do it again.


End file.
